


Civilian Problems

by MumbleBee19



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Derogatory Language, Explicit Language, Fluff, M/M, Major Character Injury, Warning for Brad's Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 20:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20179921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MumbleBee19/pseuds/MumbleBee19
Summary: Nate gets hurt. Brad freaks out. Cuddles ensue.





	Civilian Problems

**Author's Note:**

> General warning for ableist/derogatory language because. Marines. This is a work of fiction based on the HBO characters - NOT THE REAL DUDES. Gah.

Brad walked briskly towards Major Porter’s office. Summons from the Major were definitely not SOP, and his elevated heart rate made him all too aware of the fact that this was probably not good news.

Still, he was the Iceman, and had a reputation to uphold if nothing else. 

At the entrance, Brad stopped, prepared to announce himself, but the Major saw him straight away and motioned him inside.

“Staff Sergeant.”

“Ma’am,” Brad responded while he gave a crisp salute, dread pooling in his gut at the look on her face, at the tone of her coolly accented voice.

“At ease, Colbert. Have a seat.”

The pool was turning into a bubbling lake, and Brad hadn’t ever been this concerned while under fire. This was something else. He didn’t know what yet, but his gut knew it was bad. Jacobson maybe? Kid was an idiot, but he was one of Brad’s idiots and whatever nonsense he’d gotten into off base…

“Colbert, there’s been an accident back home,” the Major interrupted his train of thought.

That. That was not what Brad was expecting. His mom? Dad? Oh shit, Sydney was pregnant, maybe something happened to her or the baby…

Brad’s rapid-fire thoughts screeched to a halt when part of his brain realized that the Major was talking again.

“… drunk driver. From what I’ve learned, he’s in surgery right now but the situation is serious. We’ve got you on a flight in two hours, and I’ve approved two weeks emergency personal leave. You’ll keep me updated directly as you’re still on loan to the Royal Marines for the next two months. Copy?”

“Ma’am. Sorry Ma’am...” Brad's voice broke before he could inquire further.

Major Porter’s eyebrow raised a little, but she softened her tone.

“Colbert, how much of that did you actually hear?”

Brad swallowed.

“The part about the drunk driver and surgery, Ma’am. I didn’t actually catch who,” Brad’s voice trailed off with embarrassment at the cracks in his professional façade.

“It’s Nate, Brad. Nate Fick.”

Time stopped. Just. Stopped. Brad realized after a few interminable moments that he wasn’t breathing, and inhaled so sharply his head went light. Maybe this was a trick. 

“Captain Fick, Ma’am?” Brad managed to scrape out.

The Major’s face tightened briefly before she flat out rolled her eyes at him, Brad’s jaw nearly dropping to the ground at the display.

“Colbert, how stupid exactly do you think I am? I approve the scheduling, leaves, and travel for all of my men.” Her voice softened again, probably at the distinct look of alarm on Brad’s face. If she knew, who else?

“Brad. We don’t have DADT in the UK. Everything’s fine. And I have no plans on sharing this intel with anyone within the Royal Marines or with the American Corps. Your leave is being approved as a generic family emergency, and no further details will be provided to Oceanside. Clear?”

Brad could hardly believe what he was hearing. But now that the immediate danger to himself and Nate’s privacy was tabled, the reality of Nate being hurt started to sink in. “The situation is serious,” suddenly meant something. Nate was seriously hurt. In surgery.

“Alright Colbert, you need to pack. Dismissed, Staff Sergeant.”

Brad stood automatically, saluting by muscle memory as much as intent, and started to turn. After a pause, his voice low and raw, “Thank you, Ma’am. It is. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your granting leave. And your tact, as well.”

She nodded once, and turned to shuffle some papers, a clear dismissal. Brad hurried out the door, and once he was clear of the building, ran to his quarters to start packing.

\--

The flights were the longest of Brad’s life, an incessant loop of what ifs and hows and whys. But he was finally stateside, in a taxi, heading directly to the hospital. He’d tried to get a hold of Nate’s mom for a sitrep, but had gone straight to voicemail.

\--

“I’m going to kill you.”

Not the first words Brad was planning on saying, but when he saw Nate laid up, covered in bandages and abrasions and wires, fury took over in place of sticky fear.

Nate’s gaze was blurry and he shifted restlessly but didn’t answer.

“Seriously Fick. We’re going to un-fuck you, and then I’m going to kill you for getting into this mess. What kind of recon marine gets hit by a fucking drunk driver?”

“Brad?” Nate managed to slur out, hand (not in a cast, motherfucker) reaching out shakily.

“Brad. I’m hallucinating. You’re in England.” Nate’s eyes were clearing up, brain obviously kicking into gear from the surprise.

“No, you idiot, I’m here. Taking care of my civilian who is SUPPOSED to be safe at home just how I left him.”

Nate started to grin, but winced when his split lip threatened to crack open.

“But how… leave? How…”

Brad interrupted his stumbling.

“I’ll explain logistics later, what’s the sitrep Captain.”

Nate made a very un-officer-like grabby-hand motion towards Brad, and he finally walked over to the chair next to Nate’s bed. The guard rail on the chair-side was down, so Brad could sit and easily take stupid-fucking-Fick’s hand. As soon as he made contact, though, the fury abruptly drained away and Brad was left hollow and shaky. And feeling like he was about to cry like some little sissy, which was not an option godammit Marines do NOT cry.

“Come here. Come here, Brad. It’s alright, just come here.”

Nate was pulling him weakly towards his chest. He must have seen the tears gathering and heard Brad’s breathing go all out of whack. Brad leaned forward slowly, resting his head against Nate’s good shoulder and hoping vaguely that there weren’t any hidden bruises he was crushing. But Nate just gathered him close, kissed his hair, and kept murmuring little reassuring things that Brad couldn’t really hear over the rush of his heart and the hitching of his breath. Stupid fuck. Getting run over like a retard. STUPID fuck.

“It’s Fick,” Nate chuckled.

Ah. That last part was said out loud. Brad kept his face buried, breathing in the scent of sterile hospital gown, antiseptic, and Nate’s sweat. The sweat was the only good part, so he focused on that.

“It’s ok. We’re ok. You’re here now.”

Nate nuzzled his face against Brad’s hair, and his heart rate finally settled back to its regular slow rhythm.


End file.
